Seaborn for America
by Every Shade of Blue
Summary: The night Sam Seaborn is elected President of the United States, he learns that two of his best friends have known that he'd end up there all along.


I decided to turn a few of my favorite future President Seaborn headcanons into a short fic. I'm marking it as complete for now, but I might update it later if I get any ideas. Suggestions welcome!

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"Sam Seaborn is the next president of the United States!"

It took the words a long time to sink in, and even then Sam still wasn't sure he would have believed he'd heard it correctly if he hadn't read the newscaster's lips as he'd spoken. He was dimly aware that the room around him had erupted into raucous celebration, his campaign staff shouting, cheering, hugging, laughing.

 _President. Dear Lord, I'm gonna be president._

"Sam!"

The silent bubble in which Sam seemed to be standing was shattered as his best friend and campaign manager appeared out of nowhere, very nearly tackling him to the ground in his enthusiasm. Sam let out a grunt as the air was knocked out of him, then began to laugh as he recovered from the surprise. "You know, I'm the President-elect now; I don't think you're technically allowed to do this anymore."

Josh took a half step back, still not entirely releasing him. "Last time, I swear," he grinned. "'Cause guess what? We did it!" He pulled Sam into a hug again. "You're going back to the White House, buddy - Mr. President-elect," he corrected with a smirk.

Sam shook his head, returning the hug. "So I guess you're going to be calling me 'Mr. President for the next four years, then. That'll take some getting used to."

"Four?" Josh repeated, looking affronted. "You're kidding yourself if you think I've busted my butt for this long for anything less than eight."

"What if I just quit after four? I mean, I might get tired or - "

"If you even think about quitting, I swear twenty years from now the Secret Service will still be trying to solve the murder of President Seaborn."

"Okay, that was a threat. I know you're _definitely_ not allowed to do that anymore - "

"Gov- er - President-elect… sir?"

Sam and Josh turned to the intern that was now hovering nervously nearby, sharing a brief amused glance.

"Jack, you weren't scared of me half an hour ago; I'm still the same person," Sam said with a slightly exasperated grin.

"Um… right." The young man shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment before remembering his reason for interrupting their conversation. "Anyway, there's a guy outside who wants to see you, sir. I don't know why, but he said he doesn't want to come in. His name is… Bob?"

Sam reacted immediately, his eyes lighting up at the name. "He's outside now?"

"He said he'd wait down in the lobby."

Sam again glanced at Josh, who grinned and nodded, slapping him on the back one more time before moving off to talk to the rest of the staff. Sam thanked the nervous intern and left the room, heading down the hall and taking the elevator to the lobby, doing his best to ignore his now ever-present Secret Service tail. As soon as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Sam was scanning the room, searching for his friend. It didn't take him long to spot a familiar form sitting uncomfortably in an armchair near the front doors. He made his way across the room, stopping a few feet away. The man in the chair, busy with something on his phone, didn't notice him.

"Hey, Toby."

Toby looked up immediately, standing and dropping the phone in his pocket. "Hi."

They stared at each other uncertainly for a moment, unsure what to say. They had talked on the phone many times throughout the campaign, but it had been a long time since they'd seen each other face to face.

Finally, Toby cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Congratulations, Mr. President-elect."

Sam smiled wistfully. "It's been five minutes and I've already been called that three times. I have a feeling I'm gonna miss being just Sam."

"You'll get used to it."

"Yeah… I suppose." Sam stuck his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to one side as he watched Toby pensively. "You could come up to the room, you know. You've been as good as part of the campaign staff from day one."

"You know why I'm not going to do that," Toby answered quietly.

"And _you_ know I know that's bull," Sam countered. "I know you didn't do it. And besides, you were pardoned."

Toby knew there was no point arguing. Sam could be awfully stubborn when he wanted to be.

"I want you to be my Communications director."

Caught off guard, Toby momentarily forgot why he'd come to the hotel. "What?"

"You're the best writer I've ever known, Toby. Who else would I want writing my speeches?"

"Yourself?"

"Toby…"

"I can't, Sam."

"Bull."

Toby sighed. "You're too damn stubborn for your own good, you know that?"

Sam grinned. "Is that a yes?"

"I'll think about it."

Sam knew that was all he was going to get for the time being. "You'd better."

Shaking his head, Toby turned and picked something up off his chair. "I've got something for you." He held a plain manilla folder out to Sam.

Sam took it and opened it, flicking through the contents. "Toby, what… what is this?"

Toby managed a slight smile at the look of bewilderment on his friend's face. "It's your inaugural address."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then returned his attention to the papers in his hand. It was clearly a speech. Some sections were written in full, others were simply outlined with notations and suggestions scribbled in the margins.

"I left room for you to add to it yourself. You've always had more of a talent for the… poetic than I have."

"I don't understand," Sam said quietly. "When did you write this?"

Toby shrugged uncomfortably. "It's dated." He pointed to a series of notations in the margins of the pages, so small Sam had to look closer to read them. They were indeed dates. The most recent was from just a few days before. Sam began to flip backward through the pages, searching for the oldest, finally finding it next to the opening paragraph.

"This… this was President Bartlet's second year in office."

"Yeah." Toby didn't say any more than that; he didn't need to.

Tearing his eyes away from the long-ago date, Sam closed the folder and tucked it under his arm. "Thank you."

Toby nodded. "I should go."

"Okay," Sam said, very quietly. "You'll think about it, though?"

"I'll think about it."

"Okay," Sam repeated, smiling.

Toby started to leave, but only took a few steps before he stopped, turned back to Sam one more time, and said quietly, "Congratulations, kid." And just for that second, they weren't the disgraced former White House Communications Director and the President-elect of the United States. For a second, they were just Toby Ziegler and his adopted little brother.

"Thanks, Toby," Sam answered just as quietly. "For everything."

"Yeah." Toby nodded, and then turned and left.

Sam stood and watched him go, pensively fiddling with the folder tucked under his arm. Then, shaking his head, he made his way back to the elevator, staring unseeingly at the wall as it took him back up to the floor that had been taken over by his campaign staff, his mind occupied with thoughts of Toby Ziegler sitting in his old office, scribbling down the opening remarks of a speech that wouldn't see the light of day for many, many years to come.

When he was at last torn from his reverie by the elevator doors sliding open, he stepped out and found Josh waiting for him in the hallway outside a room from which the sounds of a hard-earned celebration still emanated.

"So how'd it go with Toby?" Josh asked, approaching as Sam stepped out of the elevator.

"Good," Sam answered distractedly.

"He's really proud of you," Josh said earnestly. "He might not be good at, you know, articulating it, but he is."

Sam nodded. "I know."

For a moment, Josh wondered what had his friend so preoccupied - but then he noticed the folder in his hand. "What's that?"

Sam glanced down at it, then slowly held it out to him. "It's… it's why Toby stopped by. Josh, it's my inaugural address," he said in disbelief.

Josh took the folder and began to leaf through the pages. "This is good… this is really good." He grinned. "And he even left room for you to add to it yourself. That's great, 'cause you know, someone somewhere is gonna notice that. Someone who was paying attention back in the day, who knows you wrote for Bartlet… they're gonna go back and look at all those old speeches you worked on, and they're gonna be able to tell you wrote some of this yourself. And you know what? I bet they'll be proud they voted for you."

Sam stared at him. "Josh…"

"What? You don't believe me?"

Sam shook his head. "No, it's not that at all; it's just… you don't sound surprised."

"What?"

"That Toby gave me this, I mean," Sam clarified. "Why don't you sound surprised?"

"Should I be?"

"I sure was!" Sam exclaimed. "I mean, did you look at the dates on there?"

"I didn't see any."

"Look again. Look next to the first paragraph."

Josh flipped back at the first page, holding the paper closer so he could make out the tiny notation. "March 7, 2000." He looked back up at Sam. "So?"

"So? That was Bartlet's second year in office." When Josh still didn't react, Sam added, "Why the hell did Toby start writing an inaugural address for me our _second year_ in the White House? I mean, for heaven's sake, I wasn't - I wasn't even _old_ enough yet!"

Josh had to laugh as he watched his best friend fume. In all the years he'd known Sam, it had never failed to amaze him how consistently he underestimated himself.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing." Josh shook his head. "Nothing, Sam. I just… didn't Bartlet tell you once that you were going to run for President someday?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted.

"When was that?"

"A couple years after that," Sam answered, indicating the opening paragraph of the speech.

"A couple of years isn't that much," Josh said quietly.

"What?"

"I said - look it doesn't matter." He took a deep breath. "What matters is… Bartlet said that because he had an instinct about you. Almost from the beginning, everyone - well, everyone except you, apparently - could see it. We could tell from the way he looked at you, he saw something in you. He _knew_ something about you. And you think he was the only one? Toby saw it. I saw it. Leo saw it. You know, this one time, I walked into Leo's office and the President was in there, and they were talking about us, Sam. You and me. They knew we were gonna be the ones that would take their place someday. They knew…" He let out another small huff of laughter, smiling encouragingly. "They knew someday I'd be the Leo to your Bartlet."

Sam stared at him for a moment and then looked away, blinking rapidly as his eyes became suspiciously bright. "Oh." Then he took a deep, steadying breath, grinning nervously. "You knew it, too, huh?"

"Pretty much from the day I met you, buddy."

Sam reddened slightly, his smile growing wider as he looked back up at his best friend. "Thanks."

Josh nodded, grinning back at him. "That's what I'm here for."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What, exactly?"

"To remind you that you can do this job," Josh replied. "You know, it was actually Bartlet who told me that. During the campaign one day, when we were all on the bus and you'd just finished up your sixth campaign stop of the day, and you looked so damn tired we were all half expecting you to drop at any minute… he pulled me aside and said, 'He can do this job.' I said I knew that, of course. And he said, 'There are gonna be days when he forgets it. Don't let him.'" Josh shrugged. "You're the guy, Sam. And I'm the guy the guy counts on. Okay?"

Sam nodded slowly, gratefully. "Okay."

Josh grinned again and slapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Now come on." He started to lead the way back to the hotel room, pulling Sam with him. "There's a party going on in here, and you deserve to be part of it."


End file.
